Hoolies! Here I was standing alone in the trees in the dark with the father and brother of a man I’d killed. Not something to make a man feel particularly welcome.
Uneasily, I stirred. “I didn’t have much choice, you know. It was a dance to the death.”
Telek nodded. “Theron knew that when he left here looking for Del.”
Stigand’s tone was glum. “She always was better than Theron.”
Telek nodded. “And he always resented it.”
I cleared my throat. “About our problem with me leaving Staal-Ysta…?”
Father and son wore identical expressions of annoyance.
“There must be a way,” I said flatly, equally annoyed. “Find me a way.”
Telek glanced briefly at Stigand, who said nothing; looking gloomy. “Del promised you to us for twelve months, and the voca accepted.”
It was all I could do not to shout at them. “Look. I’m a Southroner, not Northerner…I can’t be bound by your voca or your customs if they interfere with my personal lifestyle. Del didn’t warn me about what she intended to do, so I was never given a chance to refuse.” I shook my head. “This is not my place. I don’t intend to stay here.”
Telek’s expression was grim. “You agreed to abide by the results of the trial.”
I nodded vigorously. “Yes—before I had any idea Del intended to sell me back into slavery—” I broke it off before my desperation could begin to show. “There must be some way, Telek. An honorable, Northern way to set this Southron sword-dancer free.”
After a moment, Telek looked at his father. Stigand looked no more pleased. “You’re asking for a special dispensation,” he growled.
“I don’t care what you call it. I just want to get out of here.”
Telek scratched his jaw. “Perhaps there is a way. Even so, have you thought of the consequences?”
I frowned. “What consequences?”
Telek didn’t mince any words. “It means leaving Del behind.”
I looked directly at Stigand. “Talk to the voca,” I said. “Find me a way to leave.”
The old man sucked a tooth and spat.
Waiting drives me sandsick. So does inactivity. Generally, when faced with the former, I turn to banishing the latter with as much force as I can muster, seeking out opponents to meet me in the circle. Only this time, I couldn’t. I had no sword.
I asked, of course. I thought surely someone could give me the loan of a sword. But no one would. I was told—politely, of course—that only the an-kaidin could choose a sword for me. When I protested that I had to have something, if only to keep in shape, the declaration was repeated. Students were incapable of selecting the right sword for themselves; the task fell to the kaidin or an-kaidin. Since I had none yet officially assigned, I’d have to wait.
Waiting, again.
I could make no headway no matter how much I protested, so at last I demanded someone to row me across the lake to the other side, where I could at least ride the stud. This was agreeable. And so they gave me Del.
Silence is an odd thing. It can be uncomfortable or relaxing. Peaceful or disturbing. Companionable or hostile. But the silence that reigned as Del rowed me across was none of those things, being composed of an absolute absence of communication. I thought of all the things I wanted to say, yet said none of them. I hadn’t sorted them out.
I jumped out as the boat was grounded. Two of the settlement children had brought the stud and another mount, a gray—signals from the island negated the need for hiking down the lakeshore to the corrals—and I took his reins immediately, not bothering to see what Del was doing. Anchoring the boat, most likely…but I didn’t wait. I strode through the barrows and dolmens of Staal-Kithra, leading my horse, and climbed the steep path overlooking the lake.
The stud was snorty and inquisitive, shoving a demanding muzzle beneath my arm and nibbling. Absently I scratched the underside of his jaw, not really giving him the attention he craved. Instead I looked down at Staal-Kithra, watching the woman accept the reins to her borrowed mount. She peered up at me, shading her eyes; I gave her nothing in return.
Del came up, of course. As I had, half-climbing, half-scrambling, trying to stay out of the way of a horse in a hurry to reach the top.
The gray was a gelding, a dark steel-colored horse with a frosting of darker dapples, pale mane and tail, smudgy muzzle. Like the stud, he wore winter hair, made oddly shapeless beneath the weight. Del brought him over, gave him rein, let him graze as she moved to stand beside me.
For the first time since I’ve known her, I didn’t want her there.
The day was bright, clear, cold. Wind ruffled my hair, stripping it out of my eyes and giving me an unobstructed view of the island in the water.
“I don’t belong there,” I said.
Del’s tone was quiet, inoffensive. Yet the words offended me. “You belong wherever you want to.”
“I don’t want to belong down there,” I told her curtly. “It isn’t my place. I’m an old horse, Del. You can’t take me to water and expect me to drink every time, just because you say so, especially if I know the water is tainted.”
She looked at me sharply, braids swinging. “Tainted! Staal-Ysta isn’t—”
“It is,” I said firmly, “for me. It’s not what I want, Del. It’s what you want, maybe what you need, but it isn’t what I desire. I’m a Southroner. I have no intention of changing myself just to fit into your world. Down South I have my world, and that’s where I’m going.”
Wind put color back into her face. “Then—you’ve spoken to Telek and Stigand.”
“Yes.”
“Have they found you a way to be excused from the year?”
“Not yet.”
She nodded. “What happens if they don’t? Will you go anyway?”
I turned abruptly, shutting off the conversation. Led the stud away from the overlook. “I came up here to ride, Del, not to talk. If you want to ride, fine…if not, just wait for me down below.” I swung up. “Unless, of course, you’d rather make me swim.”
Del held the gray back as he tried to follow the stud. I saw the conflict in her face: surprise, anger, guilt…then all poured swiftly away. Her flesh was hard as stone. “I did the right thing.”
“Right for whom, Del? Yourself? Maybe. Kalle? No. Me? Most definitely not. But then, you weren’t thinking of me. You weren’t even thinking of Kalle. You were thinking of Del.”
“Don’t you think I should?” Her shout rang across the mountains. “Don’t you think it’s time I stopped thinking only of my murdered family and thought of myself instead?”
“Maybe,” I agreed, “but maybe you should think of me, too, before you sell me back into slavery.” The stud was filled to bursting with energy. It was all I could do to rein him in. He crowhopped, pawed, sidled, gnawed the bit in his mouth. Letting me know how he felt. “Del, I don’t doubt it’s easier for you simply to ignore my feelings by saying you’ve done it all for Kalle; maybe you did, in some weird, twisted way. But it doesn’t change the fact you’ve made me a prisoner of a lifestyle I don’t want.”
“It’s only for a year!”
“Too long,” I flung back. “Sixteen years a slave with the Salset was too long for me. Four months a slave in Aladar’s mine was too long for me. This is slavery, too, Del, because you gave me no choice. You just decided this was what you would do, without even bothering to ask me.”
“I had no choice!”
“That’s goat dung, Del, and you know it.” Bitterly, I paused. “Well, bascha, you made your choice—and now you have to live with it. But I sure as hoolies don’t.”
“Tiger—”
“No.” I reined in the fractious stud. “One moment more arguing this with you is entirely too long, too…so I propose we end it.”
“Tiger—wait!”
I reined back, swung the stud, looked down at her. Waited, as she’d asked.
“Tiger—” Del came across wind-wracked turf, leading the gray. She came u
p to the stud, to the stirrup, put a hand on my leg. “Tiger, I swear…I swear I didn’t plan it. It’s not why I rode with you, slept with you—I’ve used you, yes, and I don’t blame you for being angry…but I swear I did none of those other things simply to buy myself time with Kalle. But when I saw her, saw what she could be even without me, I couldn’t bear it anymore. I had to do something to find a way to buy some time with my daughter.”
I shook my head. “But you did know, Del. Maybe not what seeing Kalle would do to you, but you knew there was a chance you could buy your way back into the voca’s graces by offering them a new an-ishtoya.” The Northern term came out bitterly. “You asked me to come, to be your sponsor…and you did it knowing full well I might wind up in exactly these circumstances.”
Del’s face was ravaged. “Tiger, please—”
I shook my head. “You told me once I loved you. Maybe so. Maybe I do. But right now, with all of this, I find it very hard even to like you.”
Del, too shocked, said nothing. I turned the stud loose and rode.
Forty
We met again at the dolmen, again after sundown. Stigand looked gloomier than ever, and Telek, who had spent most of the day with the voca, looked decidedly weary. Also disgusted, which didn’t augur well for the results of the meeting.
I folded my arms beneath the borrowed cloak. “The others said no, I take it, to a special dispensation.”
In uplander, Stigand muttered something beneath his breath. Then he muttered more loudly, this time in Borderer. “Fools, all of them. Why should they care about one Southron sword-dancer, who has no respect for our ways?”
It stung me more than I’d expected. “I have respect for your ways,” I told him defensively. Then I thought about my situation. “At least—those I can respect.”
Telek’s expression was serious. “Will you listen to what I must say?”
His tone chilled me. “Yes.”
He turned slightly, staring at the dolmen. “Prospective students come to Staal-Ysta from all over the North. Most are turned away following a period of probation because they do not measure up.” He flicked a glance at Stigand, sucking teeth sourly. “Those who do pass probation are admitted to the rank of ishtoya. After that, providing they prove themselves worthy, they become an-ishtoya.”
He paused. I told him I understood, wishing he’d get on with it.
Telek continued as laboriously as before. “Once the an-ishtoya is judged worthy by his or her an-kaidin, he or she is given a jivatma and gains the rank of kaidin. This may take as many as ten years, perhaps even longer. Many students give up. Many fail to complete the training. Some decide to become sword-dancers, like Del, like Theron, therefore depleting the kaidin ranks even more.”
I frowned. “What are you trying to say?”
Stigand glared at me. “Staal-Ysta survives for teaching. Without students, there is no reason for being.”
Telek’s tone was solemn. “Of late, fewer and fewer students are worthy enough…fewer and fewer of them make rank past an-ishtoya. We need good students. We need those who will make good teachers.”
I nodded, comprehending all too well. “And so the voca doesn’t want to lose a single student, not even a Southroner made one against his will.”
Telek’s tone was smooth. “You would bring honor to Staal-Ysta.”
I wanted to say something rude. Instead I shook my head, scowling out at the dolmen. An alien sense of futility and despair welled up inside me. What in hoolies was I doing here? Why didn’t I just leave? They couldn’t keep me here. Not against my will. Del had pledged me; I’d commited myself to nothing.
As if reading my feelings, Telek turned to his father. “Stigand—it’s late, and growing colder. It does old bones no good to stay out here when it’s unnecessary. Why not go to bed and let the Southroner and me discuss this more fully?”
Stigand smiled slowly. “’Said the fox to the hound of the hare.’ Very well, I’ll go…just remember yourself, Telek. Yourself and your kin.”
The old man faded into the darkness quickly, more easily than I’d have imagined for a man of his age, and with that obscure quote. I looked at Telek, frowning my question.
He smiled, pulled his own cloak more closely, nodded. “Indeed, now we may talk openly. Stigand is the oldest of the voca; he carries the most responsibility, and appearances are important. I am the youngest and carry the least. But if it can be made to appear as though Stigand knew nothing of my plan, his power may have more value than ever. And he will approve.”
“What plan?”
Telek shrugged. “Even though you are judged worthy of the an- honorific due to your Southron ranking, it’s mostly out of courtesy. For anything more, you’d have to prove yourself, just like all the others.” He sighed. “This is the North, after all; we’re not anxious to give a Southroner the rank Northerners must earn.”
My frown deepened. “No. Of course not.”
“How good are you?” he asked. “I mean no disrespect, but the Southron style is not well known here. When you say seventh-level, it has no meaning as we judge things. But Stigand has heard of you because Stigand hears of everyone, and Del has spoken for you.”
Ordinarily I’m quick to claim my superiority in the circle. But Telek was so serious and the question sounded like there was more to it than just what showed on the surface.
“I’m good,” I said. “Very good. And if it’s any help, Del and I have yet to prove which of us is better.”
“And you did beat Theron.” Telek’s smile was thin, sharp as a knife.
“Why?” I asked. “Why is it so important?”
He looked directly at me. “For you, what would be the easiest way to earn your freedom?”
“In the circle,” I answered promptly. “Just tell me when and where.”
Telek laughed, teeth gleaming in the moonlight. “I thought so. Well, perhaps we have found the simplest solution of all. Southron…if I can get the voca to agree to a dance.”
I shrugged. “Easy enough. Appeal to their pride. Appeal to their honor. Make it Southroner against Northerner…style against style…technique against technique.” I smiled. “Make the stakes high enough.”
“I thought to,” he agreed. “Perhaps something that makes it worth dancing for.” He rubbed his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Something simple…something elegant…something obvious. We could make the voca as thirsty for it as a drunkard for wine.”
A man after my own heart. “Have you any suggestions?”
Telek nodded. “Let me be very plain: if you were a kaidin, the voca would no longer have any say about your dispensation. Del couldn’t offer you against her year with Kalle. You would be a man who had earned rank as we do, following our customs, and the voca would be made helpless by their own adherence to custom. They would have to give you that dispensation.”
“Fine,” I agreed dryly. “How do I get to be a kaidin without spending five or ten years here?”
Telek didn’t flick an eyelash. “By beating a chosen champion in the circle.”
I stared. Then I laughed. “If it’s that simple, why haven’t other students tried the same shortcut?”
“Others have. All have failed.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “That’s the trick, then? Defeating a champion selected by the voca?”
Telek’s expression gave nothing away. “But not just any champion. One who well understands your position…one willing to lose a little face in the short run if only to save some in the long one.”
Hoolies, he wanted to throw the dance. “Not exactly the honorable thing to do, is it, Telek?”
Quite abruptly, he was angry. “She threatens my family, Southron…she offends my lodge and my woman. That is the dishonor; this is the means to expunge the taint.”
The change in him shocked me. But only because I’d been blind. Telek was every bit as dedicated to Kalle’s welfare as Del, and maybe with more right. I should have seen it sooner; he would help me get free, bu
t only if I in turn helped him.
After a moment, I nodded. “So Del is the issue.”
His voice was clipped. “Del is your price. Do you think I can’t see it? You were made for one another, you and the an-ishtoya…you are blades of the same temper, the same edge, quenched in the same blood, regardless of where it was spilled. And if I have to bring dishonor on myself to rid Staal-Ysta of her, I will do it; it will be worth it. As for you? Take her with you. You want her. Take her. Win the dance and take her—as an-kaidin, I can nominate you for ritual elevation gained through a sword-dance. One I will challenge you to; I understand the situation better than any, do I not? I comprehend the need for defeat. I will give you this victory, here and now, beforehand, if you will rid me of Delilah.”
“What I understand,” I said softly, after a moment, “is that I killed your brother.”
Telek’s head came up sharply. “Do you think I want revenge for that?”
I laughed, though it held no humor. “It is a possibility. You trick me into a circle on the pretext of winning my freedom, and you kill me. Honorably. All in Theron’s name.”
Telek’s voice hissed. “This is not because I want revenge—that is Del’s personal song.” He shook his head, speaking more quietly, clamping down on his emotions. “No. I want her gone. This is not a dance to the death, merely until one of us yields. The loser, of course, will be me; if losing to you in the circle guarantees she’ll go from here, I’d do it a thousand times.”
“So,” I said, “if I win—when I win—I become a kaidin on the spot and am therefore free to go where I wish, with no obligation to Staal-Ysta.”
“And you take Del with you,” Telek agreed. “Don’t you see? With you elevated to kaidin, you are no longer a bargaining stone. Del has nothing with which to buy her year; the voca will deny her the year with Kalle.”
Quietly, I said, “And then, of course, they reinstate her immediate exile.”
Telek’s eyes didn’t waver. “Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that your price?”
“Maybe,” I said, “maybe. And maybe I don’t have one.”
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